Role Reversal
by goldacharmed
Summary: Contest entry for Brothers Apart, by @nightmares06. After defeating a spirit Sam and Dean wake up to find that their roles have been reversed. Sam has to learn to be the "giant" while Dean will have no choice but to learn exactly how Sam sees's the world while being "borrower" sized. Together they will learn more about each other than they ever expected.
1. Chapter 1

A/N

So this is the first Supernatural story that I have ever written. The boys are so hard to get in character! I wrote this for the wonderful Brothers Appart series written by nightmares06. If you haven't checked those stories out, then this one might be a little hard to follow. This story is my entry for the Brothers Apart Contest 2018. Thank you for letting me play in your amazing world!

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"I must protect the amulet!" Came the deafening screech from the hovering spirit. Dean knew that if it was loud for him, it must be unbearable for Sam, wherever he was.

Not knowing exactly where Sam was, especially on a case, was Dean's greatest fear incarnate. Compared to that, the crazy spirit currently trying to kill him was a walk in the park.

Dean tried to avoid moving around too much. He was terrified that one uncalculated move, with Sam in the wrong place, would lead to catastrophe. But it was getting harder and harder when with each salt blast from his shotgun, the ghost seemed to recuperate faster.

"Damn it," Dean swore, as he was forced to do a one-eighty as the screeching apparition disappeared and reappeared behind him.

He nearly missed but managed to shoot her right between the eyes.

She vanished again with a scream. Only seconds later she re-appeared, nearly an inch from Dean's face.

Dean could see her in far too many details. The large gash across her neck, the obvious cause of death, was no easier to look at close up.

His heart skipped a beat.

 _Shit! How does she move so fast?_

She was blocking his path, cornering him against the counter. There was no room for him to stretch his arm out enough for a clear shot. She smiled sickly, knowing she had him at last.

Then suddenly a voice piped up from the kitchen counter of the old house they were attempting to dehaunt.

Sam was dragging a glimmering gold chain along the countertop. It was the only new item in the whole house, let alone on the dusty counter where it stood proud and glistening in Sam's wake. It had a thick golden chain, and the centerpiece was a large emerald, encrusted with tacky golden circles. The Emerald itself was more than half the size of the man dragging it.

"Hey, leave him the hell alone!" Sam yelled.

Seeing her precious amulet uncovered from its hiding place sent the wild spirit into a frenzy.

The temperature dropped even lower, causing goosebumps to rise on Dean's arms. The very atmosphere crackled with furious tension.

The ghost shifted away from Dean and lunged toward Sam.

"Not so fast crazy bitch!" Dean cried, finally getting an angle, and shooting her in the back.

Sam ducked at the noise and proceeding shrapnel salt, but was soon back in action, pouring his small pouch of lighter fluid over the jewel, and pulling a match from his belt.

Dean rushed over to stand in front of him, ready to defend his little brother at all costs. He usually preferred not to loom over Sam like this, but special circumstances…

"Sam?"

"I almost got it, hold her off just one more second!" Came Sam's frantic reply from behind Dean.

The ghost appeared again and Dean shot a round, but missed, as she spun around in midair to avoid it.

"Shit," Dean muttered.

He was out of ammo and she was showing no signs of slowing down. He couldn't let her get to Sam. Whatever it took, Dean knew he would -

She vanished and appeared beside him, this time, to his left. Dean felt a powerful force fling him hard across the room and he went skidding to a halt as his head slammed painfully on the busted refrigerator.

"Fuck," Dean moaned in pain.

His head felt as if someone tried to split it open with a chainsaw. His vision swam when he tried focusing.

 _Sam_ …he thought desperately. _Come on, get up! You have to get to Sam!_

But Dean's body didn't seem to comply. His hand flew to the back of his head, and he felt blood.

Before Dean could move further, there was a bright flash of light and a high pitched scream as the ghost vanished.

The light didn't stop there. It kept growing, getting brighter and brighter. Dean groaned, the light burned his pounding head, searing through his eyelids.

 _Sam_ , he tried to call, but no sound came out.

He tried to open his eyes and a powerful wave of dizziness made the room spin. Dean swallowed hard, willing himself not to vomit. He closed his eyes hard, taking a deep breath and felt the familiar signs of being on the verge of passing out.

 _Please be okay_ … He wished desperately, before succumbing to the pain in his skull.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Sam noticed was his aching head. He moaned, hands flinging to cover his eyes against the sunlight streaming in, patching through the bits of clean shapes in the kitchen window.

Sam blinked hard, willing his eyes to finally adjust. When they did, he knew something was wrong.

He was still in the filthy kitchen...or at least he thought he was. He sat up slowly, his mind struggling to comprehend what his eyes were telling him.

He was sitting on the floor, no longer on the counter... _the counter!_

He was sitting on the floor, and he could see the counter! More than that, he could see the small burnt remains of the emerald, the gold around it melted and matted to the countertop.

Sam looked around tentatively. He was sure it was the same room, but suddenly everything looked...well...different.

He had no idea what to make of any of this. He felt like he was in a dream, but one that he had before. It was as though he was viewing his current surroundings through a lens of his childhood memories. It was so easy to forget, this used to be his life.

"Dean?"

He cleared his throat. His voice hoarse, mouth dry. He was LOUD. When the hell did he get so loud?

He wasn't sure he trusted his feet, but he grabbed the countertop and hurled himself up. Vertigo hit him hard, and he grabbed the counter tighter. He was high. No, he was _very_ high!

From his crazy new vantage point, Sam could easily see the room in its entirety. He could even see past the doorway into the living room.

He looked himself up and down, pausing at his hands. Everything looked exactly the same. From his well-made clothes made for him by his adoptive mother, to his trusty satchel still by his side.

His hook was gone through. He had to bend down, far down to see where he had last left it by the counter, in case he would need a quick getaway to the floor. There it was, so small that his very breath could knock it down.

"What the fuck is going on?" He muttered.

He gently picked up his hook, marveling at how minuscule it was. It slid neatly into the palm of his hand, barely covering the small of his palm. This hook could bear his weight and more, and now…

Sam's heart was racing, his palms started sweating around the hook. He carefully placed the hook in the pocket of his jeans, praying it would stay put.

He didn't know what was going on. He was beginning to get more than a little freaked out. Where the hell was Dean?

Sam reluctantly left the kitchen and made his way through the house. It took him record time to search each room and to ascend and descend the stars.

Humans had things so easy, and they had no idea. This was what it was like to open doors, to cross a room with only several large steps.

When he reached the bathroom, he did so with half a mind to look in the mirror, just to be sure he was still him. But it was so caked over with years of grime that it was impossible to get a clear image. Through the filth, the mirror just allowed him to ascertain his own worried expression peering anxiously back at him.

He was completely torn between marvel over his new size, (or was it his old size?) and his growing panic to find Dean.

The last time he had seen Dean, was when the spirit had flung Dean across the room like a rag doll. He heard a loud BANG and Dean swearing in pain, but he was mostly preoccupied with striking his match across his boot and setting the necklace on fire. The fire had caught easily, and he had prayed that it wasn't too late to save them both. While running away from the growing flames that licked around his feet, he saw the spirit burn up in flames and disappear.

That's when things got fuzzy. He knew he slammed his hook in place and was about to climb down to check on Dean, but his memory stopped there.

 _Did I make the descent?_ _DId I pass out?_ He wondered, brain aching as he pushed it to remember.

Was he still passed out? Was it possible that this was all just some crazy dream? It wouldn't be the first time that he had a very realistic dream in which he changed size. Somehow this felt different. For one, there were no sprites here. For another, where the hell was Dean?

He returned to the kitchen, dejected.

He slumped down next to the busted refrigerator, taking deep breaths. Panic wouldn't help him figure out what happened, or where Dean was. This was the last place Sam saw him.

He hugged his knees. He found it harder and harder to think of anything else but his brother's absence. The flames on the counter had burned through the precious stone and dimed into embers. Sam stared at the light dancing off what was left of the emerald, thinking about Dean.

Suddenly a tiny sound could be heard to Sam's left. If Sam wasn't so used to listening for small tells, like if a human was in the room, he would have never heard it.

He wheeled around and glancing at the floor by the far corner. He could just make out a dark shape.

He sank to his stomach, hands supporting him, while he inched his head closer to the leg of the fridge, holding his breath.

Dean lay splayed out, half under the fridge, legs sticking out.

He was TINY!

"Holy crap," Sam breathed.

Dean couldn't have been more than three inches and a quarter. For someone of Sam's size...Sam's old size? Well, for one of Sam's people, it was still tall, but Dean had no business being borrower sized, as Dean would call it. As for Sam, he had no business being Dean's size.

More carefully than he had ever done anything, he scooped Dean up into his hands and fought back an impulsive cry of anguish.

He couldn't even tell if Dean was still breathing. He only knew he was alive by the unidentifiable sound he made before.

However, now Dean wasn't moving or making any type of noise. He was eerily still. A speck of red appeared under the finger that was supporting Dean's head.

Sam brought his hand up closer to his face, to get a better look.

He could see his own actions as if he was outside of his own body. He knew exactly what it felt like to be lifted up by nothing more than a hand, closer to a moon-sized face. Instead of piercing green eyes, this time worried hazels peered out at Dean, silently begging for him to be alright.

Sam wanted to check for bruises, check his head wound, feel for air escaping his mouth, but he was too afraid of hurting Dean further.

He hardly weighed a thing in Sam's hand. He was so small, so fragile. What if Sam made it worse? He never had to be so gentle a day in his life.

Most of the tasks he performed required as much strength as possible, not holding back. That was Dean's area of expertise.

He wished he had paid more attention to _how_ Dean did it. He was always too apprehensively focused on the approaching fingers, to notice just how the muscles tensed in concentration.

He felt a surge of appreciation towards Dean followed immediately by dread. He had no idea how to help his own brother. He always thought that getting back to his original human size would take away his feelings of helplessness, but now he felt more helpless than ever. If he was his usual size, he could easily see if Dean was still breathing, without even trying.

"Dean, please, I...I need you to wake up man, Don't make me do this without you…"

Dean's hands rushed up to cover his ears. Sam was too loud and too close. He understood that all too well, but he never fully realized how much control it took.

Sam sighed in relief, his breath rustling Dean's hair, and he moved his hand a little further away sheepishly.

He didn't want to make Dean uncomfortable, but he was just so relieved that he moved, that he was alive!

Dean turned to his side on Sam's hand, curling up into a ball. He fit completely in Sam's palm, with plenty of room to spare.

It was otherworldly. He was holding a living person, his own brother, in his palm. It was just so foreign.

Dean was supposed to be the one holding Sam. Dean was the one who would protect Sam, always there, dependable, and larger than life.

Now...now Sam felt completely useless.

He tried hard to keep his hand steady. He rested his hand flat on his curled knees and waited.

He couldn't exactly go into the car. He had no idea how to drive. He was afraid to even walk them somewhere.

He didn't want to admit it, but the thought of going outside, in the real world, felt fake, wrong, and scary. He felt like he would just be pretending to be a normal person, but deep down, everyone would know that he was really just going through the motions. He knew he was failing Dean already. Five minutes back to human height and the first thing he did was succumb to cowardice.

Where would he even go?

Sam never let himself believe this would happen. Now that it actually did, he was surprised that all he wanted was for things to go back to the way they were. He didn't want to be big at Dean's expense. Sam knew how to be small, and he was realizing more and more, that he not only didn't mind but maybe he even liked it.

Now being faced with the glaring prospect of the real world, it didn't seem all that inviting as it once did in Sam's fantasies.

Sam waited, mulling over his thoughts, wishing he could do more to help. He prayed that Dean would come to on his own, and wished he knew what to do to help him when he did.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean slowly came to. His pounding skull compelled him to fling his arm over his eyes. He must have hit his head harder than he thought. He groaned, not wanting to move or open his eyes. He was laying on a soft, but oddly clammy surface. It had a gentle give to it, but an odd leathery feel.

 _What the_ … He wondered bewildered. Yup, he definitely hit his head harder than he thought.

He opened his eyes and slammed them shut with a groan. The light was directly overhead like he was caught in a sunbeam.

"Ow," He mumbled, forcing himself to sit up. That was when his entire world shifted.

"What the - ." The very ground was vibrating, and shaking hard enough to rattle Dean's aching skull. Dean blinked hard, waiting for his eyes to adjust and stop pounding in sync with his brain.

He seemed to still be in the same place, but something was very very different. Dean's heart jumped into his throat, while his brain was taking time to catch up. The ground came up again, lifting Dean's whole body higher and higher. The higher he was lifted, the more his headache increased.

Dean scrambled to find a handhold, a foothold, anything! Fingers larger than he was tall, curled up around him, arching overhead for a moment and created an awning over his head, blocking the light. They cast a dark shadow that encompassed Dean more than his mounting fear.

His arm started to feel funny, his own fingers, smaller than a grain of rice, by comparison, felt numb.

The surface he was on...The hand... _I'm on a fucking hand_ … became slippery, and harder to find purchase. The room once more swam around him.

 _Sam._

That wasn't Sam… was it? Sam's whole face was an IMAX screen and Dean had a front row seat. Every detail, never seen before, now in stark focus. He could see every blemish, every missed hair shaving, every crease, and twitch. It was hard to see the face as a whole. It was like sitting too close to the screen in a movie theatre. You keep trying to get the whole picture, but a nose the size of a car kept interfering with your plans.

The pain in his chest increased.

The giant version of his brother's mouth opened and closed. Dean could feel the sound crashing around him harder than being caught at sea during a storm, but he couldn't hear anything past those monstrous lips.

 _Holy crap! Those are lips?_

He looked up, craning his neck far back, trying to pretend a mouth that size did not exist, and was not right fucking in front of him. Ready to just plop him in, barely a snacks worth.

Dean's head spun, he fell to his knees, gasping. When did he stop breathing? The numbness in his fingers tingle all the way up to his shoulders. He felt like he was going to pass out again or be sick, maybe both.

Suddenly, he was being pulled back as the hand extended. Dean had no control over the matter. To move forward, or backward, it was completely up to Sam.

Dean finally heard what the booming voice was saying. How long was it saying that?

"Breathe. Please, Dean, breathe, I… I don't know how to help you if you pass out man, please, you have to calm down and breathe!"

Breathe, right, that sounded simple enough. When Dean finally focused on it, he realized that he was panting and gasping. How the hell did something like that escape his notice? His labored breathing hitched again at that thought, and he forced it back down.

 _Breathe_ , he reminded himself. _Fuck, I need to calm down and breathe!_

They stayed like that for a time while Dean slowly regained control. The pins in his arms finally turned into slight jabs, and he no longer felt like he was drowning.

He had closed his eyes at some point, and slowly this time, opened them again. He was farther from Sam now, but there was no mistaking the mop of brown hair, the desperately worried expression, and the deep hazel eyes reflecting Dean's white face, staring back.

Dean kept his eyes on Sam's face, not wanting to take in any other details. Not wanting to see how the world looked like this, to Sam. This was what Sam saw when he looked at Dean. This is how Sam felt to be held in Dean's hand. This is what the very world was like for his own little brother.

Said brother shifted slightly. "Dean, I...Are you okay?"

Dean could see every part of Sam's worried expression. From the furrowed brow to the slightly parted chapped lips. This was Sam. His brother, in full clarity for the first time. Dean had never seen him so clearly. He wished to god that it didn't freak the shit out of him.

Dean's panic morphed into embarrassment. He usually tried to be stronger in front of Sam. He certainly had never lost control like that before. Dean Winchester did not have panic attacks, thank you very much.

Dean's lack of answer seemed to be enough for Sam. His eyes became slightly brighter, his chest rising a little higher than before.

Every thought was on display without trying. Dean knew that all those times he thought he was getting away with "hiding" something from Sam, were really just times that Sam had humored him.

Though their roles were somehow reversed, Dean still felt like he was the one on display. He was completely vulnerable. Sam could do anything he wanted to Dean, or with Dean, and he would never be able to stop him.

Hell, forget Sam, the whole big scary world was out there, just to get him. Suddenly everything was dangerous.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Sam cut in. The hand twitched violently and nearly jerked Dean over.

Dean flung one hand to his ear and the other to hold his balance, his head hurting worse than ever.

Fuck that's loud. Was he that loud?

"Sam, stop it! Dean growled, unable to hide his pain in his small, un-carrying voice. "Please!" he added when looking up and realizing that he was, in fact, yelling at a giant.

Sam had the decency to look abashed.

"Sorry," he whispered. Dean thought he whispered, because it still sounded loud as hell to him, being so close to Sam's mouth again. When did he get so close?

"Sam, um, can you...can you put me down?" There was definitely a sentence he didn't think he would say that morning.

Sam nodded vigorously. "Yeah, of course. Um...Where...Uh...Where do you wanna go?"

Sam was looking around, obviously seeing the whole room from his vantage point. Dean didn't quite have the same view. He knew he sure as hell didn't want to be on the floor, but that was all he knew. If he wasn't on the floor, that meant every other option was high up somewhere.

Dean swallowed hard. Very high up somewhere.

"How about the counter?" Sam suggested.

Dean shrugged in response, thinking it a good a place as any. His heart sank when he wondered if Sam could even see his tiny shrug. He always had a hard time seeing those small, intrinsic little movements on Sam. He felt a wave of insignificance overcome him. It didn't help that he was lifted up by someone else's volition, and onto a really really tall surface.

Sam flattened his hand onto the countertop, the same way Dean always did for him.

Dean scrambled to his feet, anxious to get off anything that had a pulse.

When his boots touched the cool, grimy surface, he sighed in relief. At least here he was in control or at least had the illusion of it.

He backed away from the edge of the counter. He was close to what remained of the old necklace. It was half melted down, half glued to the countertop.

Dean didn't want to think about how much detail he could suddenly see without trying. The counter itself for instance. Instead, he turned to look over at Sam, who couldn't seem to keep still.

Sam was sitting on his legs, most likely in an attempt to avoid looming over Dean. Dean knew it because he himself did it all the time. Sam's face, right up close and personal to Dean's entire body, was twitchy and nervous.

"Better?"

Dean didn't think anything could make this "better" but he nodded anyway. He noticed how Sam wiped his hands on his jeans.

He couldn't stop thinking about being in those palms. His whole body, fit onto Sam's hand.

A very small part of him, the rational part that Dean usually ignored, told him that for once something good was happening for Sam, and maybe, just maybe this was actually a win.

Dean always wanted to get Sam back to human size, but he never once thought about shrinking himself down in exchange, if that was somehow what happened.

They would definitely have their work cut out for them this time. They couldn't catch a break. Seconds after riding a ghost from this world, they now had a new case. The case of what the actual fuck just happened.

He ran his fingers through his hair and noticed that the bleeding stopped. He hoped he didn't have a concussion. He tried to think through his fading panic and aching skull.

"The amulet… It has to be the amulet."

Dean walked over to it. It was far larger than before, and half melted, but otherwise looked no different than the photo they found of it. Dean remembered seeing it on a picture of their resident ghost's neck, resting peacefully. That woman was dead, and now moved on thanks to Sam and Dean, but her amulet remained behind.

Dean had thought that she tried to protect it because it was tethering her to earth. But maybe it was special in its own way. Either way, it was the only lead they had. His first instinct was to scoop it up and shove it in his pocket. However, it was now nearly as big as his whole body, so that left...Sam.

Sam hasn't left his hovering perch. He was staring at Dean with an odd expression of fascination and guilt. Maybe he thought burning the locket had something to do with what happened here. As far as Dean was concerned, Sam had saved both their lives by his quick actions.

"Sam," Dean said, careful to speak louder than he was used to.

"You'll have to take it, what's left of it, and...and also me I guess."

Dean shivered. He wasn't exactly partial to going back into Sam's hand. He dreaded the thought of going into a pocket even more.

 _What's the big deal, Sam does it all the time!_

He knew how much trust it took for Sam to constantly just be around Dean, and Dean appreciated it to no end. It was a very different thing for him to suddenly do. Dean Winchester didn't rely on anyone, except Sam. Sam was always his exception, and it would have to remain so now, especially now.

"Okay," Sam said.

Sam slowly extended his hand towards the amulet, and thus towards Dean. Dean flinched and backed away. He saw guilt flash briefly in his brother's enormous face, but it vanished just as fast.

Sam's fingernails dug roughly in between the countertop and the melted gold, and he heaved. The force of Sam's hand, from Deans vantage point on the table, was equal to a forklift. The gold came free, cracking off bits of the crappy counter with it.

Sam put it in his satchel, faithfully swinging from his side.

Dean gaped at it. He could easily fit in there. Hell, he could live in there and have plenty of room to spare. He remembered a long time ago, holding it between his fingers, trying hard not to tug it too hard, lest he break the notch without trying. Now he could fit inside it. Maybe, he _would_ fit inside it.

He never noticed before, it just never came up, but Sam's clothing didn't seem to have pockets.

Dean could see what Sam meant about the care that went into them. The fabric looked soft and welcoming. Dean could see the stitches clearly; thicker than normal clothes, but in all the same places that were expected.

While Dean was contemplating Sam's lack of pockets, Sam had other problems to present.

"Dean, what should we do now, I mean, if this thing did this to us, then we obviously need to figure out what happened, right?"

Dean walked a little closer to Sam, as he piped up, "yeah so?"

He fumbled in his pockets, and he was both pleased and angry to find his keys had shrunk down with him. At least no one could steal his Baby while they were in this mess. He wasn't as worried about leaving it abandoned like this, temporarily.

No one came to this house anyway except for those two idiots on a dare. Those two dead kids that discovered that ghost that had gotten them into this whole mess in the first place.

"Dean, I can't drive!" Sam blurted out, like a dark confession.

Dean showed Sam the keys from his pockets.

"Wouldn't make a difference if ya could," He supplied.

Sam frowned deeply.

"What?" Dean snapped. Then he took a deep breath.

"What?" he repeated, much softer. It wasn't Sam's fault, whatever the hell was going on, Dean knew that much.

Sam looked away, his left ear going slightly pink. Dean never knew that Sam blushed before. He could never see it before.

"Dean, I can't drive, so," He turned back to look Dean in the eyes as much as he could. "So how are we supposed to get back to the motel?"

Dean was really glad that Sam was keeping his distance and his voice down. This was weird enough, and his head was still pounding. It was making it harder to think.

In response to Sam's question, Dean just raised his eyebrows. He again wasn't sure if Sam could even see it.

He felt insignificant all over again. He now understood how his every feature was on full display to Sam, when he was his normal size. Now that he was tiny, he wasn't even sure if Sam could see his face clearly. It had taken Dean's eyes a little bit of time to learn how to see such small details.

Dean chose not to dwell on this whole crazy situation, and instead did what Dean did best, he shoved it down.

"Obviously we walk then, don't we? It's not like you've got any money or cell phone for a cab in those lack of pockets of yours."

Sam looked at Dean incredulously. Dean wasn't expecting that reaction. Sam was new to the world, but it's not like he didn't know what cabs _were_ , or how to use money...right?"

Dean guessed Sam's weird reaction correctly.

"I've never used money before," Sam admitted, even more quietly than before. It came out almost as though he tried hard to hold it back at the same time he confessed it.

It was Dean's turn to be taken aback. He racked his brain, trying to remember if Sam had ever used money before he shrunk down. He couldn't think of a single time. Dean had always been the one to handle everything, food, guns, and money.

Dean shook his head to clear these annoying thoughts away like a fly.

"It doesn't matter."

He pulled out his wallet alongside his keys, to show Sam.

Sam squinted, leaning forward slightly, making out the tiny leather pouch.

"Right," Sam mumbled. He looked away again.

Dean had a feeling that he wasn't the only one having a hard time with their extremely sudden change in stature. That meant one thing and one thing only. Dean had to redirect his focus onto being Sammy's older brother, size be damned!

"Sammy?" Sam looked back quickly at Dean's tone, desperate for comfort.

Dean tried very hard not to flinch and managed just a small twitch instead. It was so surreal to see a giant version of his brother's puppy eyes.

"Sam, it's not." Dean racked his hands through his short hair. "Damn it, Sam, you can do this! I mean, look at you!"

He neglected to mention that even he was a little frightened of what turned out to be a bulky, and extremely tall man! A man who can't look me in the eyes for more than five seconds. A man, who was perhaps, just as afraid of Dean, as Dean was of him. He knew that they weren't going to get anywhere with attitudes like that.

Sam didn't seem to give that encouragement much weight. He raised an eyebrow, and Dean took that as the initiative to continue.

"Sam, you were badass as hell before this shit, and a little size change didn't ever seem to matter before!"

Again he neglected to say things. Such as, if Sam didn't get his act together, then they would both be screwed. Dean couldn't even get down from the freaking counter by himself, let alone solve this case.

Dean refused to get too close to the edge and see just how high up he really was. He knew Sam climbed up and down hights like this frequently and without breaking a sweat. He grew pale at the very idea.

He always knew it was insanely awesome, but he never fully understood the sheer scale of how high up, _high up_ really was.

None of that mattered right now. Dean needed to be strong for Sammy. It was obvious how scared the guy was. His eyes darted around wildly, his fingers twitching sporadically, and his skin was paler than Dean's.

Regardless of size, Dean needed to be the bigger man here. He just needed to figure out how the hell to do that as a freaking borrower. While he was at it, he needed to shove down his own panic and trust Sam the way Sam always trusted him.

He could do that...right? Dean took a deep breath.

"Sammy, let's go, the sooner we get out of here the better."

He lifted a leg from the counter, examining the bottom of his shoes.

"As it is, I don't think this crap is going to ever come off."

Sam didn't take the bait of Dean's poor attempt at humor. He swallowed hard, and slowly extended his hand for Dean.

Dean took a deep breath, willing himself not to flinch at the approaching hand coming in like a freight train. The fingers outstretched, heading straight for him. At the last moment, the hand did a one-eighty and turned on it's back, gently lowering to the ground like a soft landing plane.

Dean hated planes, and he hated what he knew he had to do from here on out.

He glared at the fingertips as if it was their fault that he was stuck like this, completely at their mercy.

He continued to stare, willing himself to gather his courage.

To Sam's credit, he waited silently, letting Dean take his time. It wasn't that Dean didn't trust Sam. It was just very difficult to completely give himself over to someone else. He was so used to being independent. He did everything by himself. Though he knew Sam sure as hell could take care of himself just as well as Dean, but he also knew how much he did for Sam on a daily basis.

Dean was the big brother, and the buried and selfish part of him, the part that was mostly ignored and too invisible to have much effect in Dean's life, kinda liked it that way. He could never tell Sam that though. How do you politely tell someone that you liked being able to protect them, and being the size of a Polly Pocket happened to assist with tha?

Dean chanced a glance at Sam's face. It was showing patience and kindness. It made Dean's heart pang. Sam wasn't even rushing him. He just stood there, understanding and patience reflecting off every giant inch of him.

Dean felt more and more like an awful brother. Just a moment ago, he promised himself that he would be the brave one and yet here he was already taking two steps back. He needed to start taking steps forward instead. If only his legs would listen to his brain, and his pounding heart to his logic.

Another deep breath. He flexed his fingers nervously.

 _For Sammy._

Dean took a step forward. Then another. It felt like he was forcing himself to wade through jelly.

He pressed on. In far too little time, he was at Sam's hand. It rested on the counter innocently.

Dean could feel small waves of heat radiating off the tips of the fingers at his feet. He stared down at the waiting hand. He didn't pay attention before, but he could make out each whirl of the fingerprints. Just a short while ago, he had to fight to make out Sam's expressions.

Dean stepped onto the hand. There was a slight give to the soft skin. Dean had the distinct impression that if you walked on something made of flesh and blood, it should've had more than just a "little" give if a whole being walked on it.

He swallowed another wave of insignificance. He needed to overcome this. They were never going to make it to the motel if he couldn't.

Steeling himself, he clambered on to the palm, and sat down. He felt like he was on an ascending roller coaster, anticipating the inevitable fifty foot drop. Just like a roller coaster, Dean was safe in this hand. Maybe even safer.

 _Just Sammy, Just Sammy._

Weakly, he nodded his head, with an accompanied thumbs up, to tell Sam that he was as ready as he'll ever be.

Sam smiled gently, and slowly lifted his hand. Sam stood up and up, his back losing it's arch and ascending to his full enormous hight.

Dean felt his stomach drop, his head spun. He closed his eyes tight, breathing deeply.

"You okay?" Came the thunderous voice.

It was quite enough that Dean didn't need to grab his ears in pain, but still booming. The most fucked up part was that Dean knew this was Sam being really quiet.

"Yeah, Yeah, course. I'm always okay." He muttered, eyes still shut tight, taking away the effect of his words.

He didn't need to look to know that Sam was raising an eyebrow in disbelieve. Dean couldn't bring himself to care just yet. He was focusing all his attention on staying where he was, and collecting his equilibrium.

"Dean?"

"Hm?"

When Sam didn't immediately answer, Dean peeked an eye open.

Sam looked uncomfortable, eyes roaming everywhere but at his own hand containing his entire brother.

"What?" Dean pressed.

"It's just... Um, where do you- I don't have pockets…," He trailed off, eyes drifting off somewhere to his lower side. Dean could follow Sam's eyes down the sash of his satchel enough to know what Sam was hinting at.

"Fuck, this sucks."

Sam remained silent.

Dean thought briefly about Sam's shoulder. The same way Sam had preferred to travel on Dean. At least he would have a normal perspective from up there. But Dean knew the truth. Even if it wasn't risky as hell, he would be beyond terrified at the height difference. Even being up on Sam's hand, at his waist level was higher than he'd ever been before, save for a few bridges he'd passed over the years.

"This fucking sucks!" He said again for emphasis. They both knew that he had no choice, but that didn't mean that he was going to like it.

"Dean, I know, I'm so sorry!" Sam swallowed hard.

Dean could hear it more than see it.

Sam's voice pitched a little at the end. Had Dean been normal, he might not have even heard it. It was clear that Sam was really hurting. What was worse, was that Sam was clearly trying to be brave for Dean's sake. That was the worst part of this whole crazy role reversal thing that Dean just could not accept.

That more than anything, gave Dean the strength he'd been missing since he woke up small.

"Yeah, satchel sounds good Sammy. Just - just go slowly please!"

Sam nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course Dean!" I promise I won't let anything happen to you!"

Dean nearly chuckled at his enthusiasm. Sam looked like an eager puppy, even with his face the size of the moon.

"Alright, lower me down and put her in drive!"

Sam frowned. "I'm not a car, Dean."

"Says the guy giving me a lift."

Sam shook his head at Dean's antics. It did the trick, the tension was cut.

Sam slowly lowered his hand down to the bag, using his free hand to move things around and out of harm's way.

Then he rested it at the lip of the bag and slightly tilted his fingers downwards.

Since the flap was open, Dean could make out a carefully wrapped spare rope, a warn but cared for journal and pencil led, Sam's now empty flask, and a few other nicknacks. Sam's knife wasn't there. Dean knew he kept it in a custom place in his belt.

Dean was grateful. He didn't want that around him at the moment.

He lowered himself down, dangling off the middle fingernail until his feet found purchase along the rope. His hands shifted to crawl down the rope and into the depths of the bag.

He realized sharply that it wasn't rope, but thread. The same used for sewing. Dean knew that that was what Sam used, but now at this new angle, it looked thick and heavy.

The string was looped into a ring, leaving an empty space in the middle, that would surround him with protection from the other objects in the bag.

That was where Dean decided to make his seat.

He looked up to call to Sam, but his voice caught in his throat to see Sam's face completely eclipse the opening of the bag.

It gave Dean comfort to know how careful Sam was being. It was an odd feeling, to be so looked after, so cared for.

"Good to go, gigantor," Dean called up.

He saw the huge eyes roll.

"Dean? Um, I'm going to have to close the bag."

Dean didn't think of that. He wasn't known to be claustrophobic, but then again, he wasn't known for being under four inches tall.

"Okay," he yelled, feeling like it was anything but okay.

His voice, used to be as silent as possible for Sam's benefit, was straining under all the sudden volume shifts he was forcing from it.

The flap gently lowered, creating a shadow that grew larger and larger until Dean was mostly surrounded by darkness. There was a slight opening, preventing a complete seal.

Now that he was alone, he curled up, hugging his knees, back pressed tight against the rope that he refused to think of as thread.

The cloth of the bag wasn't thick enough to completely shield the light from outside. Dean could still make out the giant objects, looming darkly overhead.

He closed his eyes, giving into the foreign feeling of placing complete trust in someone else.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sam closed his bag, successfully sealing off his own brother from the world, he finally felt like he could breath.

Dean being hidden away gave him the illusion of being alone, at least for the time being. He knew the next part was all on him.

He would have to get them to the motel. He would have to walk outside, in public, surrounded by people. Hell, even crossing the street seemed daunting.

When he was human before, he neglected to have any of these experiences due to his age. Dean had always taken care of anything and everything. Sam couldn't recall a single time that he was reduced to walking the streets alone.

 _But I'm not alone_ , he reminded himself.

Dean was still with him. Dean was trusting him. No, Dean _needed_ him! He knew that Dean needed him before, and he seemed to come through then.

For some reason though, when Sam was small, it was easier. When he was small, he felt like he had to prove himself. Now all he felt was trepidation.

Sam stood there, thinking deeply. They needed to get back to the motel, they needed to be the Winchesters and figure out the latest mystery in their lives.

Sam wished yet again that he didn't take all the little things that Dean did for him for granted. Even walking from point A to point B was something Sam never thought too hard about. He appreciated the new distances he could reach with Dean, but never cared about the process.

Sam took a deep breath. More conscientiously than anything he had ever done before in his life, he began to walk to the front door. He kept one hand on his satchel to keep it from swinging in tune with his gait.

When he got to the front door, he hesitated, hand hovering over the handle. His heart hammered in his throat, his tongue oddly dry. He forced himself to pull the handle down...and his hand slipped off.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath.

He frantically wiped his hands on his jeans and resumed staring down the door handle. It stared back, calling him a coward, informing him of his lack of competence to simply take that first step into the real world on his own. Without his brother to be his crutch, he felt like he would fall.

He thought of Dean, sitting in the dark confines of his bag. Knowing all too well what that felt like. In one quick motion, he pulled open the door and took that first step towards his own real independence.

The first noticeable difference was the smell. The fresh air greeted him with a calming effect that he wasn't used to. It was so incongruous to the encompassing moldy stench that permeated throughout the house he just exited.

It was different to be able to walk on his own two feet outside. He was used to being the one stuffed out of sight, unable to partake in the full effect that was being unrestricted.

He couldn't help it. He smiled. For the first time in a long time, he felt _free_.

The weather reflected his mood. It was a really nice day out. The warm day, with a gentle breeze to ruffle his hair, felt conflicting to the dilapidated house behind him. Inside, Sam felt as though the air was stagnant and potent. The spirit seeped into the very walls, causing the place to smell like death.

The house was at the end of a road, the only one for at least half a mile, Sam would estimate. He hoped that meant that the road would be scarce of people.

He began his trek down the straight road, thankfully shaded by trees.

He regretfully passed the Impala, wishing he was inside, riding along with Dean on his shoulder.

With one hand possessively on his bag, he walked on.

He continued on without incident until he was nearing the end of the road, and smack into civilization. Into a world, he no longer belonged to.

Sam could hear traffic and snippets of conversation drifting towards him, causing him to clench his fists. His legs tensed, as if ready to bolt.

When he finally reached the main road, there were plenty of people walking around, just going about their day.

Sam felt a powerful urge to run, to hide. To find a dark corner, and hull inside until all the humans vanished.

What was shocking was how no one seemed to look twice at him. In fact, it was almost as though they avoided his gaze entirely. It was like he wasn't even there. Maybe that was why there was no tingling on the back of his neck.

With a deep breath, he stepped into the street, taking his place back into humanity.

He felt as if every eye was upon him. Surely someone would look at him and know that he was just pretending, that he didn't belong. At any moment, someone could knock into his bag, in turn, pulverize Dean and then…

Sam suppressed a shiver. How the hell did Dean do this all the time?

He had no contact with Dean since he closed his bag. He really hoped that was a good sign.

Maybe he should check on him?

A loud shout interrupted his thoughts, making him jump. Someone was shouting through their car window as they passed by, yelling at a pedestrian.

Sam tried to catch his breath. People were still avoiding him.

It didn't take long for Sam to realize that he didn't know the way to the motel. He recognized that he was on the main road, from all his time staring out the window atop Dean's shoulder. He hoped that if he followed the main road, it would eventually lead back to the motel. This was a one-horse town after all.

Sam wandered on, wishing he had the strength to break the silence and actually ask someone for directions.

Every time he ventured close enough to someone, he would instinctively flinch away and hung his head.

How did Dean make it look so easy? Dean could not only talk _to_ anyone, but he could have them eating out of his hands with just a look.

Sam wandered along, aimlessly, flinching away, more violently when someone got too close. One woman got particularly close, and Sam nearly jumped away, causing his bag to swing.

"Shit! Dean, are you okay?"

Passersby stared at him as he appeared to talk to himself, but Dean was more important. He didn't hear anything and began to panic.

He lifted the bag from the bottom and raised the flap gently.

"Dean? Are you okay?"

He could just make out Dean shielding his eyes from the light, and he sighed in relief. At least he was alive.

"Yeah, just don't freaking _do_ that! What the hell man?"

Sam looked away in guilt. He didn't want to confess that he was putting Dean through all this just because of his own inadequacies.

"Right, I'll just, keep going then," he mumbled.

He carefully returned his bag to his waist, keeping a firm hand along the sash to prevent movement.

He felt torn between trying to take careful strides and breaking out into a run. He settled on a light trot.

Sam eventually found the motel, physically no worse for wear, but emotionally he was a mess.

He couldn't wait to get inside their room and be surrounded by confinement once again.

When he found their room, he froze. He didn't have the keycard. Dean had taught him how to pick locks, but not an electric lock.

There was nothing for it, he would have to talk to the receptionist.

He did an about face and went to the front desk. A man sat behind it, reading a magazine, and looked bored.

Sam's mouth went dry. He flexed his fingers, willing the numbness to go down.

"Ex-excuse me, uh, Sir?"

The man flicked an eye up at Sam, and then back to his magazine. He grunted in response, to show he was listening.

Sam's heart pounded away, and he swallowed.

"Uh, I lost, my, uh, key card, for room one-oh-eight."

The man put down his magazine and peered at Sam through greasy bangs. Sam's breathing hitched.

"I thought is was that ken doll looking fella whos was in dat room?"

 _Shit_! Sam thought desperately. _What now?_

"Yeah, that's uh..." He thought it best to stick as close to the truth as possible. "That's my brother, he, uh, is the guy who rented the room, but we're both staying in it. I came to meet him later in the night."

 _Please don't ask for ID, please don't ask for ID._

Sam was in luck for once. The guy seemed too lazy to care, and too intent to get back to his magazine to question him all that much.

He mumbled, "Whatever," and handed Sam the key card without a second glance.

Only when Sam shot out of the reception area, did he realize how dangerous it was that he could so easily get access to the keycard. Anyone could walk in while he was there, and Dean was out. Or even if they were both out, someone could walk in and see their piles of weapons.

Sam shoved the card through the slot and deadbolted the door. He nearly sagged to the floor in relief.

He spent the better part of the afternoon wandering around, trying to find the motel with no idea where he was going. He was really lucky, not only that he found it at all, but that they chose such a skeevy place to hold up.

He placed his satchel carefully on the table. He stared for over a full minute in shock as it now took up more than half of the small, round table.

He shook himself out of it and flipped open the lid. He slowly reached his hand inside and waited for Dean to climb on.

Once Dean was fully on Sam's hand, he brought it up to his face so he could see Dean clearly.

He had a thousand memories of Dean doing the exact same thing. Now he understood exactly why Dean always felt the need to check on him after any form of travel.

Dean was pale and trembling in Sam's palm.

Sam felt awful. His stomach panged horribly knowing that this was his fault. He was the one who didn't ask for directions, he was the reason their "walk" took far longer than it should have. He was the reason that Dean was even small in the first place. He gently placed Dean on the table, flattening his palm the way Dean did for him so many times before.

Dean tumbled off, stumbling slightly. Dean's gaze was fixed downwards to avoid Sam's eyes.

Sam couldn't blame Dean for refusing to look at him, but it stung nonetheless.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Sam's eyes darted around, taking in the massively different perspective of such a common scene to him, while he desperately searched for a way to ask if Dean was really okay.

It was too big of a question.

Instead, he found himself noticing for the first time that the twisting in his stomach was also due to hunger. They hadn't eaten since that morning before setting off towards the house. It was nearly four in the afternoon now.

"Shall I order some grub?" Sam offered, but it still felt like it would be a hurtle.

Finally, he was calming down from the adrenaline rush of being around so many people out in the open. If he could actually go from a musty old house to their motel, and actually talk to the clerk than maybe he could actually order some food...for delivery.

Dean looked up for the first time. He stared at Sam for a long while, before nodding.

Sam smiled and got up to drag the phone over to them. He could hold the whole base in his hand and carry it without any trouble.

He went over to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer and took out the yellow pages. He scrambled through it until he found a pizza place. He punched in the number, using a single finger instead of his foot, and ignored the pounding in his heart. He licked his lips again, as a voice clicked to life on the other end.

"Yeah?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Um, hi, can I, uh, have a large pizza, half pepperoni, half plain, for delivery?"

"Cash or credit?" grunted the voice.

Sam started. He forgot about payment. That was something Dean always did.

He spared a frantic glance at Dean on the table and was relieved to see that his big brother really did think of everything.

He felt a surge of affection towards him.

Dean was waving around a tiny credit card and using his other hand to indicate that Sam put the receiver on the table.

Sam obliged, and Dean walked over to it hesitant at first, but then purposeful.

Dean shouted the credit card information into the phone and gave the guy their address. When he was done, he stepped back and allowed Sam some room to pick up the receiver and hang it up.

An awkward silence hung over them again. Sam was bursting to tell Dean how sorry he was, how this was all his fault. He knew Dean must know it already, how could he not?

He was sure that Dean was also pissed about the unpleasant method of transportation to get back to the motel.

Sam was used to the pocket, but he was sure it was preferred to a bag full of objects. Sam was glad that his hook hadn't been in his bag at the time, and therefore had shrunk. Otherwise, it would have been dangerous to put in his bag. It would be too conspicuous to carry any other way, and he would never leave it behind.

Desperate to start doing something that he at least felt confident doing, Sam pulled out Dean's laptop and flipped it open. He put his bag on the floor, next to his feet to make room.

He couldn't believe how easy it was to open something that only that morning, was an impossibility.

He turned it on, typing the password in using a finger at a time. He was used to this being a full body workout.

Dean sidled over, staring at the computer with awe and fascination.

When the machine finally booted up, Sam delved in, opening all the previous tabs that they found before about the spirit and her amulet.

Dean climbed onto the laptop, mimicking Sam's ways of just earlier that day. They began their research in earnest, both personally invested in figuring out what happened as fast as possible.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean couldn't believe he was freaking standing on a computer! His own computer to be exact. From this angle, the letters of the keyboard stretched vastly before him. Heat emanated from the bottom of his feet, warming his whole body. The screen was humongous to him.

The weirdest part was being encased by giant forearms. Logically he knew that this was exactly what Sam saw every time they shared the computer, but he didn't quite comprehend how much he was equally on display alongside the computer screen.

Sam's world was weird.

A sudden dreadful thought occurred to him. What if this was _his_ world now? What if whatever happened to them wasn't temporary or fixable? Like Sam's curse? Or what if this was the only way to actually end Sam's curse? Trade in one life for another. If fate demanded a small Winchester, then he would give it one. Did Dean have it in him to switch things back the way they recently were? Sam was deprived of his size so early in his life, that he never really got to experience anything. For Christ's sake, Sam had just admitted to never even using money! He never had the chance to experience normal human interaction.

Dean didn't miss the way that Sam's nerves oozed out of him with even the most basic human activities. That was on Dean. Dean didn't get Sam out of the way of the witches curse on time. Dean left Sam alone in a motel for more than half his life. And now, Dean wasn't sure he could take away the first good thing to happen to Sam in a long time.

Sam's arm shifted, making Dean jump slightly.

"Sorry! I'm just trying to figure out how to...never mind."

Dean chuckled. Sam's nervousness was endearing.

"Dude, it's fine."

The tension from their rough journey back to the motel was easing off, and so was the shock of their size change.

Dean never had a more unpleasant time traveling, but he felt like he deserved it for all the "pocket time" Sam always got.

Dean wasn't getting used to it, but it wasn't completely causing him a heart attack anymore. Besides, he owed it to Sam to calm down and prove his own words to be true.

Family was family, size be damned.

They shifted back into silence, this time a comfortable one. Dean was actually looking at the screen now, occasionally making suggestions of things to try next.

Whereas previously they had researched the woman, and her ties to the two dead teens, now they focused on the amulet. Thankfully, one of the tabs they found about her previously, led to a helpful link all about said amulet.

The first article they found centered around the value of the piece, and its history. It told them nothing of importance. However, it did mention on one single line, the idea that rumors were attached to it. That train of thought led the brothers down a new search, and that was where they found exactly what they needed.

The amulet had been passed down from owner to owner for over three-hundred years. Each person seemed to get rid of it very shortly afterward. The rumor claimed that the gem inside could grant your heart's deepest desire.

Dean had to hold back a snort at the cheesiness.

There were so-called interviews of people swearing that it didn't grant the wish they asked for, but twenty-four hours later, realized it was the wish they needed. Or something cheesy like that. Honestly, Dean was skimming.

When he finally got to the part of the interviews where they claimed their wish reversed after only a day, he perked up.

Only a day? Reversed?

When he was done reading, he waited a minute for Sam to catch up before discussing it. If this really was some type of temporary mishap, did that mean that it would be over within twenty-four hours?

Sam had burned the amulet around one in the afternoon. Maybe same time tomorrow this would all be behind them!

Sam seemed to be on a different train of thought.

When he finally finished he said, "So that's why she was protecting the amulet so fiercely. It wasn't just cause that's what tethered her to life. She probably never got to make her wish?

Dean raised an eyebrow, then realized Sam couldn't see it.

"Sure, whatever. But that's not the point! Do you…" He trailed off, not sure what he wanted to bring across with his next words. Hopefulness? Regret?

Sam spared him from having to figure it out.

"If this was really a wish, do you think destroying the amulet activated it?"

He pulled out the burnt remains from his bag and placed it on the table. It was strange to think that such a melted and damaged thing could cause chaos for hundreds of years. He was glad they destroyed it. He wanted to burn it even more, finish the job properly. Reduce it to a fine ash and destroy that too. The price the stupid thing would have to pay for messing with the Winchesters!

"It's a good a theory as any," Dean supplied.

"The real question is then," Sam said, looking down at Dean, "whose wish was it?"

Dean's stomach twisted.

Crap, he didn't think of that. What if this was his wish? To trade places with Sammy. To give him back the life he stole from him? It wasn't a stretch. That meant that Dean gave Sam his freedom back, only to have it stolen right out from under his nose after only the briefest taste of it.

Dean was a horrible person and an even worse brother. He felt awful. He wished he could run away, go to a bar and drown himself in booze and hopefully mindless sex. But today, today he was stuck, facing his enormous failure and wishing more than anything that he could vanish.

There was a booming bang coming from the door. Dean jumped, completely taken aback.

Sam started but recovered faster.

"The pizza," he surmised.

He got up, towering over Dean in a way he'd rather not dwell on, and went to the door. He peered through the peephole and gave a small nod to confirm his suspicions. He glanced over at Dean.

Dean didn't need Sam to tell him to get out of sight. He ducked behind the computer screen, making sure it was blocking him from view. It was pathetic how easily a simple laptop could completely encompass his whole body.

Sam opened the door just wide enough to get the pizza box into the room. He scrambled out a quick, "thank you," and shut the door, rebolting it.

Dean noticed that they didn't give a tip, but it was hard to care at the moment.

The smell of pizza wafted towards Dean, and his stomach grumbled in protest that it wasn't already inside him.

Sam shifted the computer closer to himself and placed the box on the other side of the table. The amulet fell to the floor, and Sam bent over to pick it up, and put it back in his satchel.

Then he opened the pizza box and Dean ran over for a closer look.

The pizza was fucking HUGE! It was easily ten times bigger than his whole body. He couldn't believe that he once ate a whole pie himself. Admittedly on a dare that he definitely regretted later, but he still did it!

Sam picked up a plain slice, at stared at it in his hand. He lifted it up and down as if testing its weight.

"What's amatter Sammy? Never saw a pizza before?" Dean chuckled, happy Sam could enjoy this bit of normalcy.

Sam shot him a look in reply but then took a tentative small bite.

"You know, you bite _it_ , _it_ doesn't bite you!"

"Very funny."

"I know, I'm hilarious! Now pizza me!"

In an odd way, it was extremely satisfying to watch a building of a man do his bidding. At his words, Sam's arm stretched widely overhead and pulled out a pepperoni slice larger than Dean was tall.

Sam took his knife from his belt and attempted to cut it into as small of pieces as he could manage. He then wiped his knife on the complementary napkins and slid the napkin filled with bits of pizza towards Dean, who for once, did not flinch.

Dean could see steam rising from his food. His mouth watered in anticipation. He sat down next to the napkin and picked up one of the pieces Sam had cut. It was still far larger than any single slice he'd ever had before.

Dean began to eat and held back a moan. He was so hungry, that he had never tasted such good pizza before. He was notoriously a messy eater, but with the food being too big to hold properly, he broke his own record.

He felt bad for messing up his shirt because he wouldn't be able to change until tomorrow. That was assuming the spell really was temporary.

He reached for another slice, though he was already starting to feel a little full. He mostly wanted a distraction from seeing how much food Sam was putting away. Sam was denting half the pie all on his own. Dean barely dented a single slice.

It was very awkward with Sam eating above him. Dean could hear each sound of each different part of the beginnings of the digestive process, and he would really rather have not.

Dean managed to finish half of his second "slice" and waved his hand to Sam. Sam nods his head, showing he was listening.

"Something to drink would be nice," Dean prompted.

He wished that he could ask for whiskey, but he knew they didn't have any. He couldn't force Sam back out into the real world so soon again, and just for him to get drunk.

Sam nodded again and got up. He picked up a cup from next to the coffee maker and went into the bathroom to fill them with water.

Sam, who had never ordered before, must have forgotten that Dean usually got a soda too. So for now, they would be stuck with tap.

Sam returned and pulled a large piece of tinfoil from his bag. He put the cup on the table and tore a sliver of tinfoil from the tip of the larger piece. He gently handed it to Dean.

It was daunting as hell to see a hand of that caliber coming towards him, but this time Dean held his ground.

 _Just Sammy_ , he reminded himself yet again.

He took the piece out from between Sam's fingertips and knew what to do without being told. He'd seen Sam do it tons of times before.

On his first attempt, Dean successfully made a functional cup to use. He flipped it over, admiringly. One thing Dean would admit, he was always good at handiwork.

He walked over to the cup of water and was just tall enough to get on his tiptoes and scoop water into his own newly crafted cup.

He gulped it down gratefully.

He suddenly felt full and sleepy. It was early for him to hit the hay, but it was a seriously long and messed up day.

"Hey, Godzilla?" Sam's eyelids were dropping, but he looked alert as Dean addressed him.

"Every time is a new name now?" He muttered, stifling a yawn.

Dean grinned. "Basically! Now I don't know about you, but I could really use a shower and a nap."

"Sounds like a plan." Sam mournfully eyed the bed. He got up, offering his hand out to Dean.

Dean only eyed it for a moment this time before stepping on. He omitted focusing on the lack of real give to his weight.

He sat in the center, waiting for Sam to move. He marveled at the skin around him. Now that he was coming from a calm (well calmer) perceptive, he looked with curiosity, rather than panic. His fingers fit neatly into Sam's lifeline. Sam had a lot more calluses than he did, probably from climbing ropes so often.

Sam slowly stood up and brought his hand towards his chest, fingers curling up, so Dean was safely shielded from both sides.

Rather than feel nervous or claustrophobic, Dean felt safe. If he couldn't see how high up he was, then all the better. He still received a strong sense of vertigo. He knew that if he wasn't already at table height, his ears would've popped at the ascension.

He could feel Sam's pulse through the skin. Thrumming below him, giving life to the hand supporting him.

Sam walked to the bathroom and placed Dean next to the lip of the sink bowl. After a moment's hesitation, he took a handtowel, added soap to it, and cleaned to sink carefully.

Dean didn't have a chance to question it because Sam turned on the water next. The spray was more like a waterfall. It was loud, and rushing past at impossible speeds. Dean didn't look down, he was nervous to see the water vanish into a drain that was surely large enough to swallow him as well. The water rushing past, never to be seen again, like Dean if he wasn't careful. Why would Sam ever _want_ to do this?

Sam shut off the water after a few seconds, and Dean realized that he had plugged the bottom.

Dean's heart swelled in affection at the consideration that Sam was showing him.

He would never say out loud that he didn't want to "shower" like this, but he would never ask for a bath either. Dean Winchester did not do "baths".

Dean pulled off his shoes and socks, then his pants and watch. He kept on his underwear and shirt, wanting to clean them too on some level.

Then he clambered onto Sam's waiting palm and was slowly lowered into the shallow pool collected at the bottom of the sink.

Sam scraping a nail full of soap off and descended his finger to Dean.

Dean wadded over and used his whole hand to dig out the scrap of soap from Sam's nail. When he was done, Sam stood straight and took a step back.

"I'll be right outside, shout when you're done."

Dean shot Sam the thumbs up and proceeded to take the roomiest bath of his life. It felt like he was bathing in a swimming pool.

When he was done washing his body and clothes as best he could, he called out to Sam.

Dean could see the water ripple in time with Sam's enormous strides. Sam's face loomed over Dean, casting the whole sink bowl in shadow.

"Done," Dean called up to the eclipsing face of his little brother.

Sam reached his hand in, and Dean got on, trailing water all over Sam's hand. Sam gave him a brief pitstop to gather his things from the side of the counter, before crossing back into the room.

Sam crossed the room and hovered by the nightstand.

"I guess you take my room for tonight?"

"Yeah, guess so", Dean agreed.

Sam crouched down and lowered his hand to the foot of the nightstand. Dean clutched his dry clothes in his hands and walked off.

Sam's bed was unmade, and the desk was bare. Aside from the two pieces of furniture, and a few scraps of clothes strewn in a corner, the room was unpersonable. It wasn't as though the motel room right above was any different.

Dean didn't know what he expected. Maybe for it to smell like Sam? For it to have some form of his personality? He had never really been able to enter Sam's personal spaces like this. He was eager to learn more about his brother's secret world. He guessed that Sam's hastily set up, and temporary rooms, were not going to be the key to that.

Sam shifted the books in place, creating a wall around what was Dean's room for the night.

Darkness engulfed him, but there was something oddly comforting about it.

With the bit of light leaking in from the corners of the books, Dean took off his shirt and underwear and put on his dry pants. He hung his clothes to dry over Sam's chair by the desk he had bought him.

He wanted a better look at the desk in the light. He paid for details, that he himself never got to fully see.

He could hear and feel Sam lumbering around, getting ready for bed as well. Dean saddled into Sam's bed, surprised at how comfortable it was. He pulled the blankets over his bare chest and was asleep far sooner than he expected.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean woke up to the bed shaking and a loud voice booming like thunder nearby. He sat up sharply.

"Wha- what!"

He heard a chuckle and turned to glare at his brother's giant face, that was far too happy in the morning.

Dean groaned, and rolled over, shoving the blankets over his head. He had no idea what time it was, but whatever it was, was too early.

"Dean, you gonna sleep all day?"

"Yes!" He called through his blankets.

He knew they had to survive today, and then they'd hopefully be back to normal. If he slept until then, what was the harm really?

Sam had other ideas.

Dean heard the rustle of fabric that was synonymous with Sam's movements, and that was his only warning.

His blankets were thrown off by a mere flick of Sam's thumb, and that same thumb rustled Dean's hair.

Dean hoped to a god that he didn't believe in, that that was not how it felt when he did it to Sam. Sam was too rough, too strong. He obviously didn't know his own strength. Dean's neck throbbed long after Sam pulled his hand away.

Dean decided not to mention it. If that really was what he did to Sam all that time in the name of a freaking joke, then he deserved that and more.

Dean schooled his face from a grimace to a glare.

"Bitch!"

"Jerk," Sam said, his lips curling into a smile.

Dean stretched without moving his neck too much and climbed aboard Sam's patient hand. He was getting a lot better at this.

Sam gently lifted him to the nightstand and Dean clambered off more gracefully than he'd done yet, despite still being groggy.

He could see the clock in massive letters informing him that it was half past ten in the morning.

Hadn't they gone to bed early? He couldn't remember ever sleeping so long. Being shrunk really took it out of you.

Dean got a proper view of Sam from his higher vantage point. He was careful to stay far the edges and made sure to look up instead of down. He could see water droplets the size of his head falling from Sam's long hair.

Sam looked fresh, and dare he say it, happy.

All of yesterday Sam was falling apart even worse than Dean. Dean just had to trust Sam, and go along for the ride. Sam had to learn human basics 101 before he could just get them back to the motel.

Today Sam looked like a different person.

"What's got your hair so uncurled today?"

Sam smiled wider. It was both endearing and unnerving at the same time.

"I took a shower," he said simply.

But he didn't need to elaborate. Dean understood perfectly. With all the normalities Dean tried hard to bring back into Sam's life, he still hadn't had a real honest to god shower for more than half his life.

He briefly wondered how long he took, and if it was long enough to experience how crappy the motel was, based on how fast the hot water had run out for Dean the day before.

Dean had just gotten clean last night, and he already felt like he couldn't wait until that night to take another shower.

He felt apprehensive about the very idea. Since it was half past ten, that meant they just had to stick it out until one in the afternoon. That wasn't long. They could do that, no problem.

But seeing the difference in Sam today, versus the bundle of nerves that tried to pass as his brave and confident brother yesterday, was heart-wrenching. Instead, Dean focused a little closer to home.

"Breakfast? And I wouldn't say no to a trip to the bathroom myself."

Sam flinched as if Dean had shouted.

"Shit, I'm so sorry, I should've done that first thing!"

Dean waved him off.

"No worries man!"

Sam held out his hand again. This time, Dean didn't flinch at all.

Sam dropped Dean off at the bathroom sink and left with the door ajar.

Dean was done quickly, remembering the only other time he had resorted to peeing in a sink. He chuckled, remembering a drunk night, and a rare happiness before he and Sam reunited.

Dean hollered for Sam to come back, and with glumping steps, he obscured the doorway with his massive frame.

Dean tilted his head in observation. Sam had to duck to avoid hitting the top of the doorway.

When he got back onto Sam's hand he said, "you know, we should take advantage of this and measure you properly."

He neglected to say, while we can, but he was sure Sam heard it nonetheless.

Sam nodded in agreement.

"Doesn't matter though, we don't have a tape measure."

"Oh."

Dean frowned, they did have one, didn't they? They often had to get rid of things, not having a lot of space in their on the road lifestyle for anything but the absolute basics. Still, Dean thought he would have kept that.

"In that case, we should cram in other human experiences!"

Sam placed Dean on the table and pulled out the chair to sit down himself. The chair pulling out shook the whole table, but Dean was at least half expecting it this time.

He was, dare he say it, even getting the hang of hand travel. Although he would never ever ever, go with or around anyone but Sam. The slight give, the twitching palm, he would never understand how it became Sam's "Normal", but he could see how the intimidation could dim.

Sam frowned. "Like what?"

Dean opened his mouth but shut it quickly. He didn't want Sam going back outside, and he wasn't sure Sam wanted it either. He already had awesome pizza at his new size.

With a pang, Dean realized that what he thought of as human experiences, and what Sam thought of it, were very different. Dean wondered if the dichotomy between them would ever lessen.

To save face, Dean simply said, "Like warming up that pizza from last night, I'm starving!"

"Oh yeah! Good point!" Sam got up and pulled out the pizza from the mini fridge. He frowned at the buttons and dials on the microwave. The plate of pizza hovering in one hand as he bent down to better read the faded words on the knobs.

When Sam hadn't moved for a full minute, Dean decided to take pity.

"You just gotta put it in and push the start button three times." He yelled, feeling as if he were shouting across a football field.

Sam followed Dean's instructions and stood back in amazement. Dean couldn't help but chuckle.

Sam, who heard Dean, blushed a little. "It's not my fault I never used one of these things before!" He whined.

"Still funny to see you look at it like it was the next Star Wars movie!"

Sam wisely ignored him.

Dean was glad Sam was so focused on the food because it was quickly his turn to do something embarrassing. When the inevitable BEEP came, Dean jumped and nearly tripped. He was not expecting a foghorn in lieu of a freaking microwave!

Everything was too loud. How the hell did Sam still have his ears on? Sam, who was thankfully still staring at the microwave, missed Dean's antics.

Sam brought the now steaming pizza back to the table and Dean. Once again Sam pulled out his own knife, but this time Dean intervened.

"Look dude, I know you're used to using that thing for everything, but you really don't have to for this. Look."

He pointed to the excuse of a kitchenette that had the coffee maker, a mini fridge, and the microwave.

Sam walked back over to it, this time noticing the plastic utensils that were placed around the coffee maker.

Sam grabbed one and ripped open the plastic. Inside the little bag was a napkin, a spork, and a knife. He brought the knife over and used it to cut Dean's slice.

When he was done, he held it awkwardly, as if not quite sure where to put it.

"Throw it away," Dean suggested.

"But it can be used ag -" He trailed off. He blushed harder than before. Dean for all his good sense didn't make fun of him.

He remembered all too well how much Sam had to save every little thing. That desperation, that knowledge of the value each tiny item secretly possessed, didn't just leave a person easily.

Sam put it next to his pizza slice and began to eat. He didn't say another word about the knife and Dean followed his league.

Dean couldn't say that being small was a good thing, but the sheer abundance of food blew his mind. It wasn't as though he ever went hungry. He hadn't had to since Sam...Well, he usually got to eat his fill. But that didn't mean he ever had THIS much food, and just for him.

He ate slower, not wanting to need another bath so soon. It wasn't an easy task. The sauce seemed magnetized to his shirt, hands, and arms, and the cheese had a mind of its own.

He threw his hands up in frustration and just took off his shirt, before diving in full force.

They ate, for the most part, in silence. Dean tried hard not to look at Sam, and equally as much to avoid showing Sam that's what he was doing.

Sam ate quickly, either hungrier than expected, or he knew how uncomfortable it made Dean. If that was indeed the case, they both choose to ignore it.

When they finished, Sam took Dean's inevitable leftovers and the last of the uncut slices and put it back into the mini fridge.

He wiped his hands on the napkin provided by the utensil package, but not before tearing off a piece for Dean.

When they were both full, and a bit more presentable, Dean glanced at the clock on the nightstand. If the clock wasn't so huge, Dean would have had trouble seeing it from such a distance.

It was 11:15 in the morning. It had only been forty-five minutes since Dean woke up. He needed time to go faster than that.

Sam followed his gaze to the clock, and back to Dean.

"What do you want to do now?" Sam asked, a loss for how to use time like this.

Sam usually spent his downtime writing in his journal or catching up on the world through Dean's computer, or his own phone. But this time, he had to involve Dean.

He probably didn't realize how much "alone" time Dean missed out on. Not that Dean minded. He would give up his privacy in a heartbeat if it meant Sam stayed with him, alive and healthy, and hopefully, happy.

Sam fiddled with his own fingers and avoided Dean. His eyes darted around the room as if something to do would jump out and find him. Dean decided to spare him.

"Wanna watch a movie until...Uh, until -"

"Yeah!" Sam jumped in eagerly.

Sam's face softened in relief, and he opened the laptop still on the table. He positioned a single hand over the keyboard, but then froze with a slight frown.

Dean held back a laugh with difficulty. It wasn't like streaming movies was in the same league as looking up lore. Sifting through useless websites until you found the correct link was the only common trait.

Dean strolled over to the laptop and climbed aboard. He still couldn't believe that he was actually standing on a computer! With his whole body! Even though he saw Sam do it a hundred times, it was something else to experience it.

He had never asked Sam about the intricacies of his life before. Maybe if he had, his new perspective would be less distressing.

He decided that the only way to type was to follow Sam's league. He hopped from one key to another. The first key he jumped to, caused him to lose his balance while he tried to avoid slamming his left foot down on an unnecessary key. He failed and was forced to slam his left foot down regardless.

He heard Sam's loud intake of breath from above him. He knew the hitch was caused by Sam trying hard not to laugh. Instead of taking offense, Dean decided to simply take note of the display that became your body to a borrower and walked over to the backspace key.

He hit many keys he didn't need along the way, but in the end, he would erase them all anyway. He slammed his boot down on the backspace key, erasing his fallen footsteps.

He started again, jumping with more prestige and technique. His hunter skills kicking in, and he found his attempt went smoother than before.

Sam whistled, impressed. "It took me a lot longer than that to get the hang of it."

Dean shot a smiled up at him. He found the website he mainly used for streaming movies than began to type out a request for his desired film.

Sam inched forward slightly to see what he was typing. Dean could hear and feel his breath on him.

Sam leaned back in his seat, with a huff. "Star Wars man? Again?"

"Can't mess with the classics Sammy."

"Whatever," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Dean could tell that he was secretly relieved not to have to focus so much. Rewatching was simply safer. Dean understood because that was exactly how he felt.

Sam heaved the laptop up with a single hand. Dean watched the black bottom sore far far overhead and hover above him. He was so preoccupied with how much strength it must take to lift something as big as a house, that he missed a gentle nudge to his side. By gentle, he meant a full body shove that did it's best to knock him over.

His glare fell on blind eyes because he was half blocked by the computer in Sam's hand. Sam's free hand flattened to the table, and Dean stepped on.

Sam carried him over to the bed and carefully laid down, balancing Dean and the computer quite easily. He set the laptop on his lap and paused halfway to bringing Dean automatically up to his shoulder.

"Um, where do you wanna sit?"

Dean considered his options. On the one hand, half the time Sam sat on the actual computer, and the other half on Dean's shoulder. Dean felt that it would be closer than he was used to if he were to sit on the computer itself, but the shoulder might be too far. In the end, he chose the computer. The lower down he was, the better.

Sam nodded and hovered the hand next to the mouse pad.

Dean sat in a pretzel, feeling like he was on a vibrating bed. He remembered wistfully, the "magic fingers" bed in a motel he stayed at when he was on his own. He didn't get too much done that day.

Sam's thumb appeared beside Dean and hit the spacebar. The movie started, and Dean did his best to lose himself in it. Both brothers did manage to watch at least half of their beloved film, but they tuned in and out. Both glancing away too frequently at the clock, each anticipating very different things.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time the movie was almost over, Sam hit the pause button. He knew that he didn't need to tell Dean why.

He caught Dean glancing at the clock on the nightstand perhaps more than he himself did. Either Dean forgot he had a watch, or it had stopped working when he shrunk.

Dean glanced up at Sam from the computer base. Sam felt sympathy dizziness. He knew exactly how much craining it took to see Dean's face from that angle. If all went according to plan, in just a few short minutes, he would again.

He didn't know what to feel about the temporariness of the situation. He mostly felt that it would be wrong not to be anything but grateful that he got this much of a chance. He knew without a doubt that he didn't want this at Dean's expense. Not when he was the one used to life as a borrower, as Dean so eloquently phrased it.

Eating pizza like a normal guy, using the shower, hell, using a toilet again, all reminded him of his old life. A life he realized now that he actually kinda missed. But going outside, being around so many people, ordering the pizza, having to handle money, those were things that he didn't know the first thing about. Not anymore. It was more the latter that was essential to living life as a human. He would need an inordinate amount of time to adjust to life on that scale.

For that, he was secretly grateful. The dynamic that he had found with Dean, was simple, and it worked. It started off rough, and they had a lot to adjust to. Now the way he and Dean worked together...Sam was useful, he was cared for, and dare he admit it, a little spoiled. To go back to that safety net was alluring.

He said none of this. Instead, he held out his hand for the last time to Dean.

He was hyper-aware of Dean's tiny footfalls on his skin. Dean's hard to make out expressions. His own bodies signposts displaying everything from his breath to his pulse. He would never see Dean like this again. It wasn't as sobering a thought as it could've been.

It was still weird to see Dean this way, and he hoped that it was something he would never get used to. It wasn't Dean's life to be small.

Dean was silent as Sam slid carefully off the bed. He didn't know how Dean had always managed to avoid jostling him while doing this.

Dean toppled, and remained in a crouch for the remainder of the "ride". Sam placed him on the floor and stood back. He was all too aware of how disconcerting it was to be angled on the floor next to a hundred foot giant but it was unavoidable now.

It was only an estimation as to the exact time they had switched sizes. As one O'clock came and went, they began to grow apprehensive. If they were wrong...If it wasn't temporary…

They both stood silently, Sam staring at the blinking dots between the minutes and the hours, that indicated the seconds on the digital clock.

Dean, well he couldn't see where Dean was even looking from here.

As that thought struck, Sam began to feel very dizzy. He sank to his knees, glad for how far he moved from Dean. He used his last remaining strength to angle his body as far away from Dean's as possible before he fully blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean woke up, feeling achy and score. There was a dull throbbing behind his eyes, and he groaned in protest.

He blinked open his eyes, blearily. After they adjusted to the light, he could make out his surroundings.

He was laying on the floor in their motel room. He was both relieved and disheartened to see that everything was back to normal. Or their normal anyway.

He fought his first instinct to roll onto his feet. He couldn't risk moving a muscle until he knew exactly where Sammy was.

"Sammy?" He called, keeping his voice low.

He heard a muffled moan around his left arm, which gave him enough locative information to roll to the right into a sitting position.

He swiped his hand over his groggy face. He needed coffee again. He glanced at the clock, glad to once again be able to see it from his spot on the floor.

He found Sam easily enough. After a year with the guy, it was second nature for Dean to find him.

Sam lay prone with an arm over his eyes.

Dean felt his heart sink a little.

Seeing Sam so small once again, Dean couldn't help but feel like he took what was Sam's only chance at getting his human life back. He knew that it was a set curse...wish? It wasn't a malleable spell. But it was hard to tell that to his emotions.

He extended a hand to nudge Sam but froze halfway there. His mind suddenly reminded him of all the painful and not so subtle nudges from Sam. His ribs reminded him as well, still sore from when Sam poked him in the side.

He was really glad at least that Sam had the chance that he did. Something was hopefully better than nothing. He just prayed that Sam felt the same way. More than that though, this showed them that it was at least _possible_ for Sam to get back to normal. Information like that, was a win any day in Dean's book.

He retracted his hand and hoped his voice would be a nudge enough.

"Sammy, you okay?"

He could just make out Sam's slight nod.

He let out a sigh, tension from the past day finally fading slightly. He wanted to make coffee, to get Sam off the floor, to take a shower and finally wash out the bit of blood stuck to his hair from when the spirit had banged him into the refrigerator yesterday. But he wanted to wait until Sam was ready. Until Sam suggested it himself.

He remembered being trapped in Sam's bag. The instability, the complete lack of handholds. The constant threat of objects larger than houses falling on him. The consistent swinging motion in time to someone else's gait. He didn't think he would forget traveling like that anytime soon.

Eventually, Sam did sit up, then slowly dragged himself to his feet.

He walked over to Dean's form spreadeagled on the floor. Then he walked passed Dean's line of vision but Dean felt him climb onto his open palm.

Dean smiled. He could safely say that for the first time in his life, he truly understood how much trust that took for his little brother.

He curled his fingers more hesitantly than he had done previously. He sat up while simultaneously bringing his hand closer to his lower chest.

He fought the temptation to bring his hand straight up to his face and make sure Sam was okay.

He saw himself, as though floating in midair before Sam's enormous face, and he repressed a shutter. He didn't want to subject Sam to that as much as possible.

 _At least Sam gets a nice view of my handsome mug._

Dean slowly rose to his feet, the hand holding Sam still tucked safely against his chest.

"Where to?"

Sam shrugged. "Table?"

Dean didn't like Sam's use of questioning. If he wanted to go on the table than he should just say so.

He flashed back to when they first found each other.

 _You mean when you first grabbed him and nearly crushed him?_

Dean swatted away that recurring thought. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that again.

Dean remembered easily how much adjusting it took them to simply be around each other. Very much like all the adjusting of the past day.

Was it really just a day? It felt like at least a week!

Dean dropped Sam off at the table and finally moved away to set the coffee on.

It was mostly just a way for him to hide his face. He understood now that it was basically impossible to hide his body language.

He felt conflicted. Guilty about his relief, and bereaved about taking Sam's size away from him not once, but twice now. If he hadn't failed to stop that damn witch…

"You gonna stand there all day?" Sam's voice rang out, interrupting his morbid thoughts. Dean nearly jerked in response.

He hadn't noticed that the machine was nagging him that it finished and was waiting for him to turn it off. He poured a mug for himself.

"Want?"

"Nah, day was hyped up enough already."

Dean nodded. That was precisely why he felt so drained by it.

He trotted back to the table and sank down into a chair. He gestured his cup towards Sam, and then took a long drag of the scalding liquid. It burned sense back into him.

On the table, Sam was pacing. Dean knew by now that Sam was bursting to talk. Dean expected as much.

He knew a "talk" was coming. There was no way to avoid the inevitable chick-flick moment.

Normally Dean would run straight into the shower after his coffee, in an attempt to delay the conversation. But, when he thought about it, all he could picture was how much that took advantage of Sam. Walking away, where Sam couldn't follow.

Instead, he displayed a very un-Dean-like patience. He wasn't going to move or speak until Sam was ready. Sam was going to take the lead. He needed to prove to Sam that he was not some pawn of Dean's. Although who Dean needed to prove it to was hard to say at the moment.

Sam continued to pace, ignoring Dean completely.

Dean sipped his coffee for something to do while he waited.

By the time Dean's coffee was finished, Sam paused and looked up at Dean's face.

Dean tried to hold on to the memory of Sam's face, the way it looked in detail. He tried to burn it into his mind and replace the small, slightly out of focus face he saw now, with the enormous one from his memory. It was hard to forget seeing a giant face, bigger than your whole body. While he was small, Dean had only seen patches of his brothers face at a time, or from a distance. It was hard to make out the full picture all at once. When he was farther away from Sam, then the sheer distance would cloud his features. It was impossible to get a perfect image. Despite that, the full picture was exactly what he was trying to create and hold on to.

He already felt like he was trying to hold onto water. He was desperate to really see Sam when he looked at him. To see the vivid gleam in his hazel eyes, the slight stubble, the way he always had at least one hair out of place.

There were so many details to hold onto. The details in which Sam saw his world and that Dean merely got a glimpse of. If Dean truly held on properly, then he wouldn't forget what it was like to be Sam. He couldn't let himself forget. He wouldn't!

"What's with that face? You look worse than me."

Shit. While he was trying so hard not to forget, he had already forgotten! His face was a giant display. Sam had only humored him in the past.

Maybe one day he could tell Sam how much he appreciated that. Sam's own brand of giving Dean privacy.

Dean clutched the cup tighter. The smell of coffee still lingered in the air. Dean briefly wondered if he could avoid answering by making a second cup.

"I just, I," He swallowed hard. His throat oddly tight.

On the tip of his tongue was all he was burning to tell Sam. A thousand apologies that would fall so short, they were pointless to even utter.

Sam tilted his head. "I see," he said simply.

Dean didn't know what exactly Sam could "see" but nevertheless continued to stare into his empty mug. The coffee didn't grind completely and he gently swirled the dregs at the bottom.

"Dean, look at me man."

Sam walked over to Dean's hand on the table and placed his whole hand on a single finger.

Dean didn't even flinch. He released the mug and opened his hand, palm flat against the table.

Sam took the invitation.

"Can I bring you closer?"

He left out how sorry he was that his only way to properly see his own brother was this method.

He held on tighter to Sam's face as a giant, wishing it wasn't distorted by fear. He felt ashamed that he had ever been afraid of Sam. His shame intensified when Sam gave him a sympathetic look and nodded.

He brought his hand up as slowly as he could to his eyes. He scanned Sam's body, checking for nothing in particular.

He didn't expect to find anything. It's not as though they were apart at any time over the past day. He would've known if Sam had gotten injured.

Dean couldn't explain it, but had a burning desire to see Sam's face and that was all he knew.

Sam took the intense green scrutiny like a pro. He stood on Dean's palm, something Dean hadn't managed to do once. He didn't even flinch under his gaze.

"Dean, I need to tell you something. Well, to be honest, a lot of somethings."

Dean remained passive. He was almost afraid to move, afraid to even breathe.

Here it was.

Sam was going to tell him that Dean took his one chance away to be normal. How he realized now that they weren't doing enough work to get him back to human size. How he wanted to leave Dean.

Everyone always did in the end.

Dean blinked, hard. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and took a shaky breath, but his eyes remained steady.

"I'm not sure I want to become human again."

Sam spoke so fast, his words tumbled over one another. Dean wasn't so sure that he would have been able to hear it if he wasn't already so close. As it was...

"Come again?"

It was Sam's turn to take a deep breath.

"I mean it. I - after actually experiencing the world again. I, I'm nowhere ready for such a thing. I could barely take care of myself! I'm more capable as this," he gestured to his whole body, "than a freaking human. I was so useless. Fuck!"

He ran his hands through his already messy hair.

"I really thought it would be different than that. I don't know what I was thinking. Probably wasn't. Maybe all I was ever doing was dwelling on a past that I should have forgotten a long time ago."

Dean was not expecting that. He saw how nervous Sam was, but he definitely didn't think it was as bad as Sam made it out to be.

The look on Sam's face stirred something in Dean's stomach.

"Sam, I, damn I wasn't expecting that." He looked away for a moment, gathering his courage. "You weren't useless."

He could just make out one of Sam's tiny eyebrows raising, his mouth tilting downwards.

"Really, I mean it. Look man, you got us back to the motel by foot!"

"Anyone could've done that and in half the time!" Sam shot back.

"Anyone didn't spend their lives away from most humans. Anyone wasn't thrown back into that world like you were."

Dean moved Sam slightly away from his face. Though it hindered his own ability to see Sam's face, he wanted Sam to see all of his. He needed Sam to understand his sincerity through his face since Dean sucked at expressing it through his words.

Sam didn't answer. He stood stoically on Dean's palm.

Dean averted Sam's gaze. A sudden thought occurred to him and made his skin crawl.

"Maybe you just didn't have enough time to get used to it."

He had hardly spoken, but Sam was drinking in his words, so he sucked it up and went on.

He was so right about this stupid chick flick moment.

"Maybe if I hadn't...Sam, I'm sorry. I know this is all my fault and I - "

He broke off at the sound of sharp laughter. The tension had clearly gone to Sam's head.

"What the hell is so funny?"

Sam chuckled again and adjusted his posture. He was leaning on his side against Dean's curled fingers like he was looming in a doorway, with one foot tucked behind the other.

Dean envied Sam's confidence around a giant. Even though he knew that it was his own brother, he never emulated that level of control.

"I called it!" Sam pumped his fist through the air triumphantly. "I freaking called it. I was waiting for that! Mr. the freaking ice caps melting are my fault."

Dean was taken aback. He wasn't sure whether to be offended or pleased by Sam brushing off his heartfelt confession.

Instead, he just gaped slightly, mouth open.

"Dean, it was a curse! One that I activated to remind you who actually lit the damn thing."

"Yeah, and saved my ass doing it," Dean interjected.

"Yeah, that's my point! I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I got a full day to be normal again. The whole time I knew it was just borrowed time. Even before we knew exactly how much. It just showed me, um, well, it kinda showed me a little what it's like to be you." He finished sheepishly.

Dean understood exactly where Sam was coming from. He definitely felt as though he understood Sam's world better. Yet he still missed out on most of Sam's real experiences. He never had to communicate with another giant other than Sam, not counting ordering pizza. He never had to go into the walls. He never had to fight rats, fend for himself, or even get his own food. Sam took care of everything. He was grateful for all that.

Something in Sam's words bothered him, and he couldn't move past it.

"Sammy, who says you're not normal?"

Sam shifted his stance less relaxed.

"No one has to say the obvious Dean."

"Yeah, maybe it's not obvious then!"

"Dean- "

"So maybe you didn't go from little to Godzilla so perfectly, but who the hell would? You had a day to readjust your whole life, and you freaking did it man! You took care of everything, and… and you took care of me when I couldn't. God, talk about useless. I just had to sit there and wait for you to do everything. You don't, I don't…"

He couldn't ask it. He couldn't ask if Sam felt that way because that would mean that he _made_ Sam feel that way.

"Yeah, and I'm the one who should be sorry."

Dean looked at him, confused.

"Why's that?"

What the hell could Sam possibly be feeling guilty about now?

Sam didn't falter. He looked Dean fearlessly dead in the eyes.

"Because I thought I really knew how much you did for me, every single day. But I didn't know anything. Getting food, money, driving, taking care of us both, it's a full-time job man."

"It's really not," Dean said.

Sam acted as though Dean hadn't spoken. "It's also how careful you are. I mean really. It's like every second you have to be on! You make it look like it just happens. I…I don't know how you do it. Even just watching my voice, it's, well, you know."

Dean did know. But he was disheartened to know just how much Sam understood. He was afraid Sam would feel like a burden, and if Sam felt like a burden, then he might decide he was better off without Dean. No one who thought that had been wrong yet.

"I want to do it, Sammy. It's nothing like you're making it out to be. Some big ass job, that makes me think about what I do every second. It was a day for you. I had a year to adjust. I wasn't all Mick Jagger in the beginning if you remember?"

To Sam's credit, he didn't react to the memory that inundated both their minds.

For Dean, it was the feeling of tiny struggles. The knowledge that he held an entire human being in his hand. The entrapment, the guilt, the failure. He knew what it was like to be trapped now. To be so dependant on someone else.

He couldn't let Sam feel like that was a bad thing. They were brothers. Dean would take on a thousand hardships to keep Sam around.

"Besides," Dean added softly. "I never realized how hard it was to be, well, you."

Sam laughed, funk officially broken out of.

"Me?" He said incredulously. "You know when I lived at the motel I had a full days work every day, but now. Dean, I don't do much do I? I mean, you do it all basically -"

"Bullshit!"

Sam flinched. Maybe he wasn't such a professional borrower after all.

"You saved my ass more times than I could count! I wouldn't be alive now without you, period."

Sam grinned, but it was a half smile. Dean knew that Sam didn't fully believe him, but he also knew that in time, he would make Sam believe him.

"You know, maybe it wasn't that it was just for a day."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe, maybe it's just cause we weren't normal sized together."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Thanks, Oprah," but inside, Dean's heart was swelling.

How would the whole day have been different if he didn't shrink, but Sam just grew? If the amulet truly granted wishes, that would have been a much better wish to grant.

Sam waved off Dean's deflection. Dean knew that Sam understood.

"There's something else." He began slowly, as though tasting the words on his tongue.

Dean asked apprehensively, "Oh?"

He was really hoping that they were done with this conversation already. He really wanted to take a shower. He needed to wash this emotional moment, along with the last day off of him forever. Then he wanted to return to that damn house and get his Baby back. He hoped she was okay.

"Don't get mad but -"

"Always a great conversation starter."

"Seriously. But I still don't think I want to get big again." Sam threw his arms up and flopped them down dramatically; as though to say, _there I said it_.

Dean brought him closer to his face again. He wanted, no he needed to look Sam dead in the eyes when he said this.

"Remember the dream we all had, in Wellwood?"

"Hard to forget."

"It was different then when it was just us, and no big bad world out to get ya."

"What's your point?"

"Sam, when we do find a cure, and we will!" He pressed on as Sam shot him a look of doubt. "We will both be normal at the same time. You'll have forever to learn to live as a human, cause I sure as hell ain't going nowhere. You need to know that. This was a taste, but it was the wrong kinda taste. Like burnt coffee. It doesn't mean coffee isn't good, just that specific kind sucks."

"Really, a coffee analogy Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "The point is, when we fix this when we get this right, it's going to be nothing like this. This whole thing showed us that it's really possible, that we can break your curse. And when we do, then it's going to be all different. It'll be only the good parts."

"The good parts huh? I can live with that." Sam said, smiling widely for the first time that day.

End!

Thank you for reading!


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